Such A Small World
by Marian.Locksley
Summary: When he left London after Canary Wharf Ianto Jones left behind a box of photos. When Elli and George moved into their new flat they found something in the bottom of an old wardrobe...Sometimes it's such a small world.


**Author's note: This fic was inspired by me cleaning up my house for our move to London and discovering a couple of old photo's I didn't remember (as well as a lot of dust and rubbish). In case it isn't clear the woman is Lisa (although if you'd rather it was someone else...). Also George and Elli are original characters – George can be male or female, whichever you want. Enjoy and please review ^_^ x**

_The boxes lay, neatly stacked, against the far wall, and the carpet seemed oddly bare. Everything sparkled in the late afternoon light, and Ianto Jones couldn't see any of it. All he could see was the empty space where the woman he loved should have been, and all the marks of her, left around the room – from the yellow walls to the tiled fireplace: memories and dust._

_..._

The flat was nice, neat and well cleaned, just the kind of place they we looking for.

"...and of course the old tenant kept it spotless, personally I think he was a bit OCD, his girlfriend was nice though, such a tragedy..."

Elli nodded absentmindedly, not really paying attention – she was already picturing where the sofa would sit, and which room would make the best studio. Her partner, George, turned to the estate agent, waiting until he paused for breath to speak.

"It sounds perfect, when can we move in?"

"I, um, move in?" The man spluttered, obviously not expecting the sale. "Well, everything is up to date, all the checks have been done...as soon as you want I guess. Of course there will be an additional charge-"

George cut him off. "That will be no problem, we'll move in tomorrow."

...

_He found a tiny house just outside Cardiff, it was damp, and half the lights didn't work, but there would be no-one to bother him and that was the most important thing. The boxes which he'd managed to lug from London sat, once again, against the far wall, and in the only clean patch of carpet lay a sleeping bag._

_He would unpack everything, soon, when he was ready, but for now it was easier to sleep. He couldn't escape her, even there, but at least in this isolated wilderness no-one would be able to hear him scream. _

_..._

"Where did you put the paints?" Elli had her head half buried in a bin bag, and George had to lean over to hear her.

"Ummm, I think I put them in your studio room – they're in a smallish cardboard box."

Elli yelled her thanks, and went in search of them, a clean canvas clamped under her arm. When she glanced around there was not a box in sight, so she went over to the cupboard – the one piece of furniture left in the flat – thinking George might have put them away for her.

As she opened the door, a wave of sandalwood and rose water hit her, and she coughed, unprepared for the overwhelming smells. As she has thought the bottom of the cupboard a cardboard box and she dragged it out into the centre of the room, puffing slightly with the effort. She opened it, expecting the familiar box of water colours, hopefully not to damaged from the bumpy car journey, but instead found hundreds of neatly packed photos.

...

_It had taken him longer to pack that single box then it had to pack up and clean the rest of the house. Every time he saw her face, smiling at him from the picture, the tears would come. He had meant to take them with him, reminders of better times, but he couldn't bare it. He'd taken the box and put it in the back of the old cupboard – someone would find it, but what interest would they have in them? No, better they stayed in the past, better they not be contaminated by the present._

_..._

All the pictures were of the same woman, sometimes with friends but most often with a young man. They made a beautiful couple, and she could tell from their easy smiles that they knew it- yet they didn't seem narcissistic, just happy.

"Elli! There you are, I found your paints, they were...Hello, what are these?"

"I found them in the bottom of the cupboard, when I was looking for the paints. I think they must have been from the people who lived here before us, the ones the agent was telling us about."

She has flicked through most of the photos, and the last one stared up at her. It was just the young woman, standing on a bridge somewhere, her eyes gazing straight at the camera. She seemed so happy and yet something about her seemed wrong. Eli turned it over in her hands, and saw words scrawled across that back, in barely legible hand, it was dated a week before the bombs in Canary wharf and it simply said – the worst of all.

"That must have been the woman, poor girl, those bombs were terrible, no wonder the boy left." George, put a consoling hand on Elli's back. "Leave them, they'll just make you sad – I'll make us some tea."

Elli shook her head, her eyes not leaving the portrait. "George, pass me those paints."

...

_A year later Ianto was in London with Jack for a unit conference. It was the first time he had returned since Canary Wharf, and he wanted to stay away from that part of the city, Jack had agreed and left him to wander while he went to the UNIT conference by himself. As the weather was its usual grey self, a stroll in the park didn't seem very attractive and Ianto ducked into one of the small galleries lining the street. A young woman sat in a chair at the back of the room, she smiled up at him as he entered and then went back to reading her book._

_Most of the pictures lining the walls were of a woman with bright red hair, occasionally another figure (most often a little boy) appeared. The pictures were incredibly detailed and Ianto wandered entranced. He reached the end of the gallery and was about to turn and leave, thinking he might bring Jack here to look, when he noticed a small frame next to the woman in the chair. The canvas was dark, but he could see a face staring out at him, a very familiar face._

_..._

_When Jack returned to the hotel he found Ianto curled asleep on the bed, clutching a picture to his chest. Tears tracks stood out clearly on his pale skin, and Jack gently prised the frame from his hands. He recognised the woman in the photo, although she was so much more beautiful than he had realised, covered as she had been by blood and barbeque sauce the last time he saw her. Sighing he tucked the picture back in place, and lay down next to Ianto, wrapping his arms around the young man's shoulders. How had he found it, in the huge city that was London, how had he managed to find a picture of her? He knew about the photo's left at the flat, he and Ianto had even gone to search for them, but they had been gone – now he knew where._

_As sleep washed over him he had one thought in his mind: Such a small world. _


End file.
